


The Bedfellow's Song

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, OTP Feels, PostWar, Semi-Public Sex, drunk makeouts, minor Yavin holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 01:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: "Everything should always lead to drunk make outs."This time, it's a minor Yavin holiday and a lot of free time and free-flowing punch and strong, strong sun.





	The Bedfellow's Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/gifts), [galacticproportions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticproportions/gifts).



> Summary and rule quoted in-text from @sandyk's [the sum of you and everyone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12642891). I read that line and knew this had to happen.
> 
> For L. & GP, without whom, nothing.

> _Singing the muscular urge and the blending,_  
>  _Singing the bedfellow's song, (O resistless yearning!_  
>  _O for any and each, the body correlative attracting!_  
>  _O for you, whoever you are, your correlative body! O it, more than all else, you delighting!)_  
>  Walt Whitman, "Pent-up Aching Rivers"  
> 

  
They'd forgotten, caught up as they were in Kes's crisis, but it's a minor Yavin holiday this moon, something to do with the temples and cloud formations. The entire settlement is draped with bunting and sweet with brightly-colored smoke. Drums and the odd tocachee, the local two-person horn, sound a constant beat; it has had Poe tapping his toes since it first became audible.

In the middle of the municipal complex, the courtyard is aglow with banners and wreathes of fabric sewn with tiny chips of mirror and glass. The fountain runs gold with punch; little kids chase each other through everyone's legs and compete for more sticky candy twists. Poe has a little cousin on his shoulders, fists twisted up his hair, while he tries to lead Finn in a clumsy approximation of a traditional dance. There are too many stumbles and shimmies for them to look anything but cheerfully ridiculous; the old people claiming the shade and clapping along shout and laugh at them.

When the dance is over, Poe has to lean against Finn to shake the gravel out of his shoes and wipe the sweat off his face. He nearly falls over, then, as Finn spots Kes and rushes to meet him.

"Hey, where're you going? Oh." Poe shoves both hands through his hair, tries to school what is no doubt his drunken expression, and hurries over.

"She's going to be just fine," Kes announces as he emerges into the sun. "They're going to set her pelvis, give her some nutrient boost, and soon enough, she'll be right as rain."

He looks so relieved, all the ashen tension vanished from his face and replaced by his usual jovialness, he might as well be a different man altogether. Even if they _hadn't_ been drinking for a couple hours by then, Poe and Finn would probably have cheered and hollered with joy.

But they have, in fact, been drinking, just about since the moment Kes disappeared into the surgery with his favorite goat-lizard in his arms.

They pound Kes on the back and whoop some more until he ducks out of reach, arms up to protect his face. "Been making good use of the wait, have you?"

Poe catches Finn's eye and they both shrug and grin.

"Looks like I need to make up some time." Kes scoops himself a glassful of punch from the fountain and raises it to toast the patient. "To Gluxa, best beloved child of my heart--"

"Hey!" Poe puts in.

"Best and sweetest and _prettiest_ , that is," Kes amends. "And to the clouds and the spirits that billow inside them."

"Can't argue with that part," Poe mutters as he raises his glass. Finn, the _traitor_ , has had his up since Kes began.

Kes tosses back his drink and claps Finn on the shoulder. "You two didn't have to wait. Not for me."

"We're having a great time," Finn says. They'd driven Kes in from the ranch on Poe's speeder; Kes had been so distraught by Gluxa's injury that he only complained twice about Poe's driving. "Let us know when you want to head back."

"Will do," Kes says, taking another glassful before joining the nearest group of cousins and old comrades. They're starting up another round of jack o'the lawn, and his pitching skills are sorely needed.

"Looks like it's just us," Poe says and winds his arm around Finn's. They're leaning against the exterior wall, staring ahead for a while before they roll on their shoulders and hips to face each other. In the midst of the party's noise and motion, they regard each other quietly.

A smudge of cobalt powder from one of the smoke bombs decorates Finn's cheek, curving up to his hair line in a nearly perfect reflection of his part. Thumb licked, Poe reaches over, to remove it, then comes to his senses and drops his hand. He settles for looking at Finn, letting the music beat through him like a second pulse, feeling the glow of the sun and the clouds every bit as strongly as the sweat coating his skin, the liquor brightening his every thought.

"What're you looking at, huh?" Poe asks, voice rough and quiet, teasing. "You got something to say, just say it."

When Finn looks at Poe, even now, he sees everything on the man's face. Desperation and resolve, blood- and sweat-streaks, then the elation when they met again: that established the rhythm of their lives, as it turned out, fear to joy and back again, again and again.

He sees all those moments overlaying each other, sliding around as Poe grins and bumps him accidentally-on-purpose. He sees history and promise, too.

He also, just now, sees double. A wavering extra Poe, just as handsome but much more transparent. "Hey, Poe? How much did you drink?" 

Both Poes make a show of thinking the question over. "Dunno. You?"

Finn lifts a hand, as you might when you're describing how tall a child has grown. "Lots."

Poe grins, sudden and startled, and sways into Finn again. This time he doesn't bounce off, but sticks fast. He slings his arm around Finn's shoulders. "Precisely my consumption! What a coincidence."

"Want to kiss you, too," Finn adds, as if completing a statement neither of them managed to hear. "Of course. Clearly."

Poe bats his lashes until he realizes it's making him dizzy. Dizzier. "Clearly."

"Obviously," Finn replies. He nods once, resolute, determined. "Perfectly clear."

Poe laughs against Finn's neck and hugs him more tightly. "Hardly worth mentioning, even."

"On the contrary!" Finn straightens up. "Always worth mentioning!"

"No, no, yeah, all right." Poe says yes and no and maybe, hoping that one of them makes sense and manages to hit a general target of agreement. "So you want to--"

"Make out," Finn says. He's still slightly incensed, his seriousness magnified, slightly absurdly, by the alcohol. His eyes are wide and bright, his mouth set in an implacable curve. "With you. _Now_."

Just then, a baby shrieks and Kes's laugh booms out. An auntie barely older than Poe himself passes and mutters something about _getting a room_ , which is silly. Who'd want to go inside when it's so nice out?

_Oh,_ Finn thinks. _For privacy, probably._ But that's overrated, compared to the heat and sun, the way sweat is loosening the waves in Poe's hair and sparkling over his stubble. The way Poe just _is_ , right now, smiling back at him and blinking fast.

They amble down the passage, out of the courtyard and into the warm gloom of the municipal complex. They stop in a shallow nook, something that might once have held an educational plaque or small piece of public art, but now plays host only to twi-bird nests.

"Let me get this straight," Poe says. He keeps his palm on Finn's chest, fingers digging into the jersey, as he leans a little ways back. He doesn't want Finn to get too far, _obviously_ , but he needs some space to think. 

"Nothing to get straight," Finn replies, and moves closer, so Poe's arm folds up between them. This close, he's a mosaic of beautiful features--intense eyes, wet lower lip shining like a beacon, lashes curling for light years. "Just go with it."

"I want to! Believe me! I would like nothing more than--" Poe grabs and twists Finn's jersey and looks around wildly before lowering his voice. "Than to make out with you, right here. Right now!"

"Then what's the problem?" Finn's trying to be patient, but why discuss when they could be kissing?

"Well." Poe licks his lip, flexes then tightens his hold on Finn's shirt, and chances another paranoid glance over his shoulder. "I mean. Is this really a good idea?"

He's walking backwards, slowly, talking all the while, until they reach another, slightly more private, niche down another narrow passage.

"You're buying time," Finn observes, smiling, even shaking his head a little. "Look at you, finally thinking around the next corner, past the next grope."

Poe nods fervently. "I'm learning! I've learned! A little! Mostly out of abject fear, admittedly, in the past, also now, last thing I need is my pops wandering by and making fun of me, but also in general. Just because it's a good idea. And also--" He tucks himself against Finn's body, mouth against neck, chest to chest, groin to groin, and so on all the way down to his tingling toes. "You're a good influence."

"Am I?" Finn's arm slides around Poe's waist, fingers tucking under his belt, and pulls him closer yet. "You sure about that?"

"Right now, maybe not," Poe says, kissing Finn again, pressing even closer until their legs shuffle and make room for each other. "Right now, you're being highly inappropriate. Insubordinate?"

"You're not my superior officer," Finn says, mouth on Poe's ear, vibrations shaking out across Poe's skin. "Never were."

"No, I'm not your superior anything." Poe cups the back of Finn's neck and tries to get back to Finn's mouth, to the main event. The _only_ event, so far as he's concerned right now. "You are a free and independent soul, beholden to no one, at liberty like--"

"Poe?"

"What?"

"Why are you still talking?" Finn cocks his head and even in the dark nook, his slow, amused smirk is easy to see. It makes Poe want to rip off his own shirt and drop trou and offer himself to Finn's every deepest wish and darkest need. "Are you still buying time?"

"No, I'm just..." Poe swallows a couple times. His mouth feels warm and abraded, a bit swollen, and he wants more, wants to taste Finn down to the essence, and then some. "It's hard to shut up sometimes."

Finn puts on his very grave, incredibly effective Official Voice for High-Level Briefings and Delicate Negotiations. "Would you prefer to talk, Commander?"

It's hard to take him entirely seriously, however, given that his hand is pushing ever lower over Poe's ass, and he's started rocking his hips into Poe's. Ever so slightly, gently, one might even say absent-mindedly, except that this is _Finn_ , who is always at the very least _present-minded_ , and then some. Even drunk off his ass and probably a little sun-struck on top of it.

"No, I mean, I'd rather make out, that's always the number one preference, if we're being honest, which I am, because why not, you should know everything, you _do_ , since I trust you with my--"

Thankfully, Finn kisses him again then, at the same time he spreads his fingers and really _digs in_ against the swell of Poe's ass. He kisses Poe like they both need this, which, all right, they do, but *need* on a more existential level, not just a horny-need-gimme-now sort of situation. That one is pretty much their default, to be honest.

Finn nips on the side of Poe's lips and worries the skin there before he drops his forehead against Poe's temple and whispers, "stop thinking."

"I'm trying, I really am!"

"No one's been down this passage all day. Probably all week, possibly all cycle."

"So it's overdue for a lot of traffic, you could say," Poe insists, then grimaces at the uncharacteristic reasonableness of his logic. "Shit. Kiss me some more, maybe you can suck my brain out my tongue."

"Or elsewhere," Finn says. He bites the hollow of Poe's throat, then a second time, harder, until Poe gasps and shivers against him and holds on all the tighter. His fingers are going numb, his balance is wavering, he's so hard he's losing track of much past the sound of Finn's voice and hot, mobile weight of his body.

"Yeah?" Poe asks, like it's debatable, like it's an offer made in jest and Finn might take it back at any moment.

"Oh, yeah," Finn says, half-seriously, smiling against Poe's mouth.

"What gives, though? What's gotten into you?"

"Do I need a reason to want to make out with you?" Finn asks. When he tips back his head, his eyes are a little hooded, his lips parted. The _look_ he's giving Poe is indescribable, particularly by one hard-as-moonrock veteran lurching toward middle age who never was all that good with poetry and metaphor and the other descriptive arts to begin with.

"No, I hope not. Hey, what's another word for metaphor?"

"Poe."

"Finn."

"A not very wise, but eminently charming, man once told me something I will never forget."

"What's that?"

Finn coughs to clear his throat, then pronounces: "Everything should always lead to drunk make outs."

Poe snorts. "He may have been drunk himself, you know."

"No doubt he was," Finn says. "He had a fondness for this bizarrely sweet wine punch, you see."

"It's good stuff!" Poe is duty-bound to point out. "Maybe takes some getting used to, but once you figure that out.... Yavin punch, there's no going back."

"I'm beginning to agree," Finn says. He licks a long stripe up the side of Poe's neck, ending behind his ear. Poe clutches at him, their hips rocking together undeniably now.

"Knew you were smart as hell," Poe says, hand working under Finn's jersey to palm and press every micron of skin he can reach. "Never doubted it."

"Thank you," Finn replies, trying to move them around so they're better shaded by an outcropping of bad municipal art, "your faith is both touching and--"

"Hey," Poe says, kissing him straight on, tilting his head, pouring himself into the sweet warmth of Finn's mouth, flattening himself against the solid heat of his body, "now you're the one talking too much."

"You're an influence," Finn tells him, lips shining with Poe's own spit. His thumb ticks up and down the rise of Poe's pelvic bone. 

"A good one, right? Or a bad--"

"Yes." Finn kisses him again. He really pushes into it, raising one knee to trap Poe there, tasting his mouth, dragging open the fastener on his trousers.

Poe drops his hips a little, then lifts away from the rough wall, both to give Finn access and reach for Finn's flies. His head is in orbits around his brain, his body's on a couple other planes that tilt and shift against each other, his dick is simply _delighted_ to be back in Finn's very capable hands: He's a whole collage of various happy details, disconnected and floating and throbbing. He manages to take hold of Finn's dick, find that groove where curved palm and shaft just _fit_ , and hooks his other hand around the back of Finn's neck, so he's holding on, holding himself up, holding tight, holding and moving along with the scrape of their teeth and ache of their tongues.

Finn's got him covered, Poe's in good hands, the best, and so their thoughts are spiraling away, skating and slipping in ever-increasing ovals, chasing each other like stars across the sky.

"Poe!" Finn says, like he almost always does, just before he comes. He clutches at Poe and kisses him again, the usual surprise rocking up through him as he shoots a couple times. He always looks _shocked_ , pleasantly so, but shocked all the same, to blink open and see Poe there, and come, and keep coming.

"Mmm," Poe says, and, "yeah, yeah", as Finn buries his face in Poe's shoulder and shakes a couple times. Poe's own orgasm chases Finn's, flares stronger and blindingly-brighter at the sound of Finn's voice and scent of his come and feel of him shivering back together.

"It's good luck," Kes tells Finn later, when they've returned to the courtyard, hastily washed-up and swollen-lipped. "Seven years good luck, having an orgasm on Cloud Day."

Poe is over by the musicians, consulting with them, getting ready to serenade Finn.

Finn can't, quite, meet Kes's eyes. "Really?"

"Nah," Kes says. He grins, his beard folding up in rough silvery lines. Then he reconsiders and knuckles Finn's head roughly. "Not yet, anyway. You could be the start of a new tradition!"


End file.
